The House on Ironwood Road
by Shadsie
Summary: It has been years since the battle for the fate of mankind on the planet. In a little town Vash finds rest, but can he find peace? Trigun Maximum manga based.


Disclaimer: Trigun Maximum belongs to Yasuhiro Nightow. I am making no money from this and ideas expressed in this story are entirely my own. 

Note: This story takes place in a setting I imagined after the end of the manga - Chapter 98, "The Last Bullet." There are things to it specific to the Trigun Maximum manga that do not apply to the Trigun anime, and thus, there are spoilers. There is a light het shipping subtext if you really want there to be, but it's also easily ignored - it's just, I've left it to a reader's imagination as this is first, foremost and on the whole a gen fic.

* * *

"THE HOUSE ON IRONWOOD ROAD"

Destiny was a tiny town on the edge of a sand dune sea. A revival of technology had brought many new and exciting things to the world, but Destiny barely felt its effects. The town was a sleepy community, small and built around agricultural pursuits. It had been this way before the great war and the arrival of the Earthlings - the town's survivors had been quick to go back to their familiar way of life.

New arrivals trickled in to join the community and living within it was one very infamous resident. He lived in a small, narrow two-story house at the end of Ironwood Road. He signed everything with the name "John P. Smith," but everyone in Destiny knew who he really was. No one cared that he was, technically, a criminal. No one here wanted to turn him in to the authorities for they saw him as a hero, even if they did not make a big deal of it.

So, over a period of several years, for the first time in his long life, Vash the Stampede lived in peace.

It was late July and the morning light was strong through the windows of the little house on Ironwood Road. Vash did his last push-up and wiped the sweat from his shoulders with a towel. It did not matter that he was living quietly. He still trained every day. After all, he did work as a guard at the town bank. Trouble could arrive at any time.

The ex-outlaw put a on a shirt and wandered downstairs. His tongue played with the gap in his teeth. He relished the sensation of the tongue-tip over the long-healed gum and hoped he wouldn't get any of his breakfast stuck there today. It happened a lot and it was really annoying. Vash had lost that tooth years ago, and he was thankful that it was one of the back ones.

He had that tooth to thank for a measure of his freedom. Milly and Meryl, his near-constant companions no matter how much he tried to dodge them, had decided upon a creative way to help him. As much as they had enjoyed the chase and as lucrative for them both reporting upon him had been, they'd seen some of their newscasts do more harm than good to the society that was being rebuilt after the Age of Chaos.

The "Age of Chaos" - that was what many people had taken to calling Vash and Knives' war.

Back in those crazy days when Vash was an unwilling television celebrity, constantly hounded by bounty hunters and federal agents alike, with innocent people and the girls getting caught up in it all, Meryl had approached him with her idea. He thought it was cruel at first and didn't really want to go along with it. He'd had a lot of friends in many widespread towns and he did not want to make them sad. Still he agreed to the plan to stop the craziness that was being caused by the people hunting him.

Vash and the girls had traveled to an abandoned town with cameras and supplies loaded into a jeep. There, they faked Vash's death for the cameras. It involved a lot of explosions. He'd lost the larger portion of one of his coat panels and a tooth, both of which Milly presented to a federal office along with a part from his artificial arm that was not necessary to its basic function.

Meryl had later repaired Vash's coat. It was hanging in the upstairs bedroom closet, a souvenir from wilder days. Right now, she and Milly were out on assignment halfway across the planet.

Vash brewed coffee and made himself some toast with egg, something he recently learned was called toad-in-the-hole. Vash had been making it for almost as long as he could remember. Rem had taught him how. Mr. Meenan, who worked at the post office, told him that it was an English thing - from Old Earth. He actually wasn't sure if that was accurate. He was pretty sure he'd read somewhere that toad-in-the-hole was some other kind of dish, but that's what Mr. Meenan called toast with egg and Vash saw no reason to argue with him.

In this town, the people blurred. Vash sometimes had to remind himself that he was in the present. Mr. Meenan smoked a pack a day - at least. Cigarette smell clung to his clothing and he often wore black. He was slightly chubby, especially about the neck, but he still was very much a reminder of a life long gone. There was the short old gentleman of Asian descent who ran Destiny's toma ranch. The ranch specialized in producing chicks and shipping them around the world. The day the man told a curious Vash all about the intricacies of toma-sexing and about how important females were to the general market, the Plant had found himself blinking, thinking about someone else he had known long ago and how that someone would talk with him endlessly about mechanics, the workings of artificial limbs and of computer systems.

Today was a day off for Vash. Perhaps he'd take a walk through town or let the gangs of children wrestle him. He was extraordinarily tired. He had no idea why. He had slept well the night before. Vash looked at his face in a mirror. Messy black hair hung in his face. His skin was a little bit pale, but he didn't see anything to worry about. He decided that he just needed more coffee and a little sun.

Vash poured himself a second tall cup of coffee and sat down on his couch. He drank half of the cream-sweetened beverage before setting it down on the coffee table. He repositioned himself and looked up at the ceiling fan. It briskly hummed and wobbled. Maybe getting some sun could wait. Maybe having hot coffee - even for breakfast - during the height of summer wasn't such a great idea. Vash could feel sweat trickle down the back of his neck. At least he was in no danger of getting a cold. He yawned. Vash did not understand why he was so tired. He fell asleep.

* * *

All he knew when he awakened was that he was not dreaming. At least Vash did not think he had been dreaming. He did not remember anything from a dream. He wondered what time it was. The ceiling fan kept turning but it seemed different somehow. One of the fan blades dipped and wobbled more than usual. Vash briefly wondered if it warranted a repair and sat up. It almost looked like it was a different model of fan. He shook his head. This was silly.

Bewilderment shot through him. What was his coat doing on the wall? He did not remember mounting it behind glass in a very large frame nor did he remember anyone doing that for him. Other things in his living room seemed strange. There were many objects out of place. Vash stood up and was hit with sudden alarm when he saw, mounted on the wall behind him, a grotesque metal object.

It looked just like the grate that was mounted in his chest. There was a little plaque beneath it, but before he could read it, he heard a loud sound. He whipped around to see several people walking right through his front door.

Vash quickly scanned the small crowd. None of them carried weapons. Several of them were children. They looked like a tour group and each of them was dressed very strangely. They were very rude for barging in.

"Hey! Hey!" he yelped, but no one seemed to hear him. He turned to the man who walked at the head of the group. "What are you doing?" He exclaimed, "Come on! This is my house! I never invited you in. What reason do you have for barging in here?"

The man absolutely ignored him. He and his people walked right past Vash, motioning with his hands to various things within the room. Vash was utterly confused. The "tour guide" spoke with a dramatic flourish.

"As we all know, the great outlaw Vash the Stampede lived here..."

Vash was more than utterly confused now. He was right here. A woman looked at him but she did not seem to see him. He wondered if he was still asleep and definitely dreaming.

"And over here," the man said, "is his famous coat. Pieced together with what was then 'lost technology,' this was one of several pieces that he wore. Unfortunately, this is the only surviving coat."

Vash simply listened. He knew that he had to wake up eventually. The next thing the man said, to the "oohs" and "ahhs" of the small crowd sent a chill through his soul.

"Here is the couch where Vash died," the guide said. "It is the original couch and it has not been reupholstered. It is one of the few items in this collection that has not been restored or replicated. Eighty years ago a visiting friend found him laying here - the man on the run, mankind's first localized disaster, the infamous Humanoid Typhoon - gone peaceful in his sleep. It's said that Destiny was his last refuge and that he lived here quietly for many years... a fitting end for the man who saved the world."

Vash hoped he was dreaming. This was getting weirder and weirder. It was creeping him out.

A little boy broached a question. "My Gran'ma told me that Vash was really, really strong - like a demon! What did he die of?"

"No one really knows," the tour guide answered. He scratched his mustache and continued on. "He was a Plant and not subject to age. He had the black hair of a spent Plant, but we know that he lived for many years in that condition, seemingly healthy. Despite a lot of scar tissue, inside and out and numerous metal implants, he had no major health problems. Some say that he died for a very special reason..."

The guide beckoned close to him as he leaned down slightly. The children gathered in front of their parents and relatives, eager to listen. Vash was eager to listen, too. He felt rather morbid listening to the details of his own death, but this was only a lucid dream, right?

The man motioned to the grate on the wall. "We know that Plants are special creatures, not quite like you and me. Vash the Stampede's scars are famous: however, when his body was examined, it's said that a new, strange scar was found. It was on his right shoulder in the form of tiny numbers like a brand that rose up from his skin: 163. Incidentally, that was the Stampede's estimated age. Most of the lost technology created before the Fall had a finite life span programmed right into it. What most historians think is that Vash, having survived every challenge and retaining enough Plant energy to continue to live, simply reached his expiration date. It's sad, but most like to say that he wouldn't have wanted it any other way."

Vash rubbed his shoulder nervously. He couldn't be dead. If he'd been dead for the last eighty years, surely he would have noticed it.

The guide led the visitors throughout the house and Vash followed. All of the rooms had been rearranged - objects were lined up nearly like guessed-at reconstructions in a museum. The guide babbled on.

"Some say Vash still haunts this place. People staying in this house at night say they've seen him in the upstairs bedroom doing physical training or cleaning his gun. Some have seen him in the kitchen drinking a spectral cup of coffee. He never hurts anyone and never interacts. He's a polite, quiet ghost."

The children "oohed" and chattered.

"I wanna spend the night here! I wanna see Vash!"

"There's no such things as ghosts!"

"Uh-huh!"

A little girl addressed the guide. "Have you ever seen him, mister?" she asked.

The tour guide laughed. "No, I'm afraid I haven't been lucky enough to see ol' Vash. If he really is still here after eighty years, I think he must have been very happy in this place. The key thing that everyone must remember is that despite his destructive power, despite the danger he posed, we have Vash the Stampede to thank for our being able to live on this planet. His considerable sacrifices are why we have a measure of peace today."

Vash was quite truly touched by this. He wasn't sure if it was anything he really believed about himself, and he wanted to tell these people to thank Rem. Still, if he was dreaming, it did not matter.

Then the man spoke words that made Vash stiffen again. This he could not rely upon to be a nice, safe dream.

"...Meryl Stryfe is also buried in the cemetery out back."

"Meryl!" Vash gasped. He dashed past the people in his home and out the door. His front yard was walled in stone and concrete. Ahead of him were wrought-iron gates. These were not there ever before. Below his feet was grass. It was lush and well trimmed.

"What?" he asked himself.

He stepped out through the gates and dodged a car that whizzed past him. He looked after it and did not recognize the model. He also didn't remember this road being paved. Vash had seen paved roads before, they were rare, but there were places on the planet to find them. Destiny had never been one of those places.

He looked back at the gate and the wall. There was a little plaque mounted upon the wall at the right of the gate that read: "Stampede Place."

Vash walked down the street, hands in his jeans pockets. He recognized some houses, but most were different. In whatever interesting dream this was, Destiny had been built up and there were a remarkable number of houses built of wood. Their outside walls were unpainted, as though their residents were very proud to have wooden homes and wanted the woodgrain to be visible. This was not uncommon at all. What was uncommon was their number all on one street.

Vash spied the cemetery, desolate and dusty as any he'd ever seen. It did not have the lush lawn of his severely altered front yard. He sprinted to it, remembering the man's words about Meryl. He looked upon the tombstones and found the names of many friends there. He found a "Millicent T." on a joint tombstone - he did not recognize the name of the husband on the stone's other side.

He almost fell over when he found a particularly ornate tombstone. Vash admired the symmetrical design of flowers carved into the surface. He did not like the emblem of crossed guns so much. Below the guns was his name - "Vash the Stampede" carved in a nice strong serif font with the epitaph "Love and Peace" below it.

Vash laughed. This was too much. He'd never realized that his imagination was this detailed. He knew he'd wake up soon. He looked down and saw another tombstone. He crouched down and ran his fingers along the name. "Meryl Stryfe."

Vash had had enough. This dream was getting entirely too creepy and too sad. He stood up and set his gaze back to his house. He'd go inside, back to his couch and wait to wake up.

"It's about time."

Vash startled, then whipped around. Casually leaning upon his tombstone was a man he hadn't seen in years.

"Livio?"

"Yeah," his old friend said, "I was saying that it's about time you woke up. We've been waiting for you."

"I don't understand what you mean," Vash said nervously. "I'm glad to see you, but this visit's kinda short notice, don't you think?"

"He means you're dead, Vash." This was another voice, one that could not be. He recognized its nuance, its accent... Vash turned around. Standing before him was Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Many other people surrounded the long-dead priest.

There were children. There was his old lady boss from July City. Milly was there and so was Meryl. There were his neighbors in Destiny, there was Cheryl and Lina... There was a little blonde girl standing straight and staring at him. She was beautiful but had a deep sadness in her eyes. "Tessla..."

Vash stepped back. He ran into his tombstone and into Livio. "No, I'm not!" the old legend protested, "I can't be! I think I'd know it if I were dead! I will wake up, and you will all... leave me again."

Milly shook her head. "Mr. Vash... You've been gone for a long time. We've been waiting for you."

Vash looked to Meryl, hoping she might make sense of things. She spoke gently. "You've been asleep Vash," she said. "Maybe you just didn't realize you died... Maybe you were just too happy where you were. You've been going through the same routine day by day."

Wolfwood spoke up, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing a long smoke trail. "So, are you going to accept it or are you going to run away?"

"So...I'm dead? I've been dead?"

"For eighty years, Mr. Vash," Milly said.

"I can't believe this."

"Believe it," Wolfwood said simply.

Children came up to him. "We've missed you, Vash!"

"You've kept us waiting, ya big dummy!"

"You're gonna play with us, right?"

Vash's gaze locked onto the pleasantly plump woman whom he had worked for in July. He began to mouth, "I'm sorry," but she stopped him.

"It wasn't your fault," she said.

Vash, overcome by sorrow, stooped to his knees and closed his eyes. He felt hands upon his back. He was pulled into an embrace, warm and soft. He smelled the salt of skin and the light odor of flowers.

"You don't have to cry anymore."

That voice. It was a soft voice from ancient times, full of the richness and wisdom of ancient Earth. Vash cautiously looked up.

"Rem."

"Yes, honey."

"Rem!"

"It's time to come home now."

"Did I do good, Rem? I... I kinda failed. Where is Knives?"

Rem did not answer. She merely hugged Vash a little harder. This was no vision. She felt so real, so warm, and so alive. Vash felt like he used to when he was a child - loved and safe.

He cried.

"It's time to come home."

"But... how?"

Vash stood up. He looked at everyone. He did not see Knives. He did not see Legato, but he saw the faces of so many that had died in one way or another because of him. There were victims of the Gung Ho Guns, the victims of July... There was Wolfwood. All were casualties of the war between him and his brother and would have been better off if he had never existed -

Maybe.

Vash looked skyward.

"With all the terrible things I've done... How can I be forgiven?"

Meryl snapped a reply. "Don't ask stupid questions."

So much for getting answers from Heaven.

Rem sidled up to him and gently took his hand. "Come," she said. "I won't leave you alone. None of us will."

The suns were setting up ahead. Everyone walked toward them with ghostly steps. Rem was much shorter than he had remembered.

In the distant future, in a time yet to be seen, the legends of one age faded, making room for another.

"Welcome home."

.End.

Shadsie, 2007


End file.
